


Synesthesia Tastes Just Like a Rainstorm

by liketogetlost



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-23 05:36:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/618682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liketogetlost/pseuds/liketogetlost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the end, or the beginning, it's a whole lot simpler than he ever thought it could be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Synesthesia Tastes Just Like a Rainstorm

In the end, or the beginning, it's a whole lot simpler than he ever thought it could be.

It's her warm weight against his side where she leans into him, beneath his arm on the couch in the library like a plant towards the sun. It's the way she shifts against him, the rub of muscles and bones together that makes him think of more of the same only with less clothing to hinder the sensations. 

It's the tickle of her hair on his cheek while he reads from the dusty old book in his lap, some Gallifreyian bedtime stories that he translates for her. Of course, it's him watching as she blinks slowly and the way her eyelashes brush her cheeks as she tries to fight off the overwhelming urge to let his deep rumble of a voice lull her into dreams. It's the deep pink of her tongue when she yawns, and the little squeak that travels up her throat when she does.

“Mmm, I keep dozing.” Her eyes are lidded with fatigue but still shine with that light that only she emits. It's the tightening of his gut when her mouth curves into that familiar line of her smile and a similar tightening of her t-shirt over her breasts when she raises her arms above her head and stretches like a dancer.

“S'pretty, Doctor. I love them. But I need rest.” He closes the book in his lap and nods, keeps his thumb between the pages to finish the story when she's gone to bed. An old favorite, about two lovers lost to each other in the deep, never ending length of space. 

And it's her walk as she goes to a nearby chair to retrieve her shoes where she left them on the floor earlier. Her bare feet almost completely silent on the floor save for the tiny tap of her skin on the bits of hardwood that aren't covered by the rug. And her hips lazily swaying with each step, heavy with the weight of the day and teasing as they so usually are. 

She makes her way back around, passing him behind the couch. It's the brush of her hand, hot with the life of her body, across the back of his neck that at once makes him shiver and makes his hearts beat quicker. And it's this.

It's as simple as her thumb touching the soft spot beneath his earlobe and making him turn his head up towards her. As simple as the side of her beautiful mouth quirking up as she leans down to him, each inch she covers tightening his chest like a vice. As completely, totally and truly uncomplicated as her lips, soft and giving and as luscious as he dreamt of, pressing to his and lingering, even molding around his bottom lip and making it so clearly not innocent that it makes him close his eyes and _savor_ every second. It's the tingle in his mouth when she pulls away and the line of electricity strung between them as she straightens. 

That's it. A goodnight kiss and a sleepy grin that means nothing and everything, a “Yep” in response to his silent “Really?”. 

It's the promise in her voice when she whispers "Goodnight, Doctor." that keeps him from exhaling from his lungs until her form disappears into the hall. The pressure of her kiss still lingers and it rivals that the pressure of the book pages sandwiching his thumb. 

He finishes the story with his lips pressed together and smiles thinking of tomorrow.


End file.
